


familiarity

by demoniccaffeinepossession



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:06:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26811118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demoniccaffeinepossession/pseuds/demoniccaffeinepossession
Summary: The job is done.While Eames is planning to go about his business as usual, Arthur doesn't know where to go from here.
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 55





	familiarity

**Author's Note:**

> cant believe the first thing i post on here is inception fanfic in 2020... yeet. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

It's not something he'd let on, but Eames is still a bit out of it when they've all gathered at the baggage claim. The sinking feeling he got when Fischer dropped into Limbo hasn't quite left him yet, and, truthfully, he can't fully believe they actually managed to pull it off.

It's only when Cobb is walking past him, even more disbelief in his eyes, that he realises he's been standing next to the carousel, for quite a lot longer than necessary. Like he's waiting for someone, which he definitely isn't supposed to. By now it would be strange to just walk away, but it's not like he has many options. It's just going to be a bit of an awkward move at worst, he thinks. He turns away and makes it about three steps towards the exit, when a hand catches on his shoulder.

'Wait up, will you? It's not my fault they took ages with my suitcase.'

An exasperated voice, a bit overacting. Arthur is babbling away, but Eames can tell from the grip on his shoulder (that he hasn't lifted yet) that he's mildly annoyed at best, but probably more in the realm of rather pissed.

Eames would have missed giving his customs form to the guy holding out his hand, had Arthur not pulled the crumpled piece of paper from his back pocket and handed it over along with his own.

He gives him a smirk and is met with a glare.

When they're past the line of people waiting, Arthur turns to him.

'What the hell were you doing back there?' he hisses. 'Fischer was like ten feet away from you, and you just stand around, alone, drawing attention?'

'"Drawing attention"? Why, did I draw yours?' Eames tries another smirk, but this time Arthur doesn't even bother shooting him down, he just ignores him.

'Sorry,' he says then, 'won't happen again.' He doesn't know why he adds that. It's not like they work together regularly.

Arthur acknowledges his apology with a low hum, and Eames almost doesn't hear it.

They continue on together through the rest of the terminal towards the revolving doors at the exit, and then they're outside. They move away from the exit, while the other arrivals around them are filling up the cabs and rental cars.

For a bit, Eames is just watching them, trying not to be too aware of Arthur's presence still next to him. He decides to break the silence before it gets too awkward, and is about to clear his throat.

'So... where're you headed?' Arthur's gaze isn't on him when he speaks, instead he stares straight ahead.

'Uh, well, I've been thinking, my old place around here, haven't dusted those shelves in a while.' Eames catches himself and sighs a bit too dramatically at the end. 'What about you? Staying in the area long?' The tone in his voice shifts a little, without him really meaning to.

Arthur pauses, like he's considering what kind of answer to give, which is probably what he's doing.

'Maybe,' he stops, clears his throat, 'maybe, for a bit. Figuring out where to go from here, you know,' he gestures vaguely, 'processing it all.'

'Yeah,' Eames agrees. 'Processing.'

He looks at the ground, nods to himself.

'See you around, Arthur.'

He doesn't wait for an answer, just walks down the street, around a corner, into a cab, and mostly, away. Away from the job, away from the situation, away from his thoughts. Away from Arthur.

He has the cab driver drop him a couple blocks from the flat and stops for a coffee on his way there. When he's through the door of the not very luxurious studio apartment, reality finally begins to settle in. They'd done it. Inception. It worked. He allows himself to feel a little giddy about the whole thing. They'd actually done something pretty much everyone thought impossible, and he had come up with most of the plan that made it all work.

He goes over to a shelf where he knows he must've left a bottle of gin and is pleased to find that his memory is correct. Without further ado, Eames grabs a glass from the cupboard, breaks off some of the ice that has accumulated in his freezer, dumps it in and pours a generous amount of gin over it. He takes a sip and grimaces. There's no tonic anywhere in the flat, but Eames remembers something else.

'Hmm, I wonder...' He walks to the window across from the kitchenette and opens the blinds. He grins. Good to know his supply of vitamin C hasn't been cut off in the meantime. He opens the window and picks a lemon from the neighbours' tree. Squeezing half of it into the glass and dropping a slice of the rest in with it makes the taste immediately more bearable.

He thinks back to when he was younger and would drink cheap gin straight from the bottle. He winces. Some things definitely should stay in the past.

He flops down on the old brown leather sofa and takes another sip from his celebratory beverage before he can start thinking about other things that are in the past, also most definitely to stay.

Groaning, angry at his wandering thoughts, he runs his hand through his hair, then rubs at his eyes. He's tired. They may have all been asleep for roughly ten hours on the plane, but sleep for a job is never exactly restful. He contemplates ordering food for a moment, but quickly realises he's already almost slipping in and out of consciousness. He puts the glass of gin on the coffee table and falls asleep right then and there on the sofa, not even lying down.

Eames wakes up some time later, it's dark outside, and the contents of glass on the table are lemon-garnished freezer water by now. He feels groggy as hell and the pain in his neck travels down to his shoulders when he moves.

There's a knock on the door.

Eames gets to his feet but doesn't move from where he is. 'Who the fuck...' he murmurs, not even fully awake yet.

It knocks again, longer, more forcefully. And again. And again.

'Alright, alright! I'm on my way, god.' On his way there, he stubs his toe on the coffee table. 'Ow, fuck.' Whoever is at that door better has a damn good reason. He doesn't even bother looking through the spyhole first, which, given the entire situation, is a bit stupid, and opens the door.

The person standing in front of him has their hand raised, presumably about to knock again. Eames' face falls.

It's Arthur.

Arthur, standing in front of his shitty L.A. flat, with a slightly pained expression on his face.

Eames sighs. Of course it's Arthur. He's the only other person who knows about this place (and who would knock). Eames steps aside to let the other man in and closes the door behind him.

Arthur walks past him, and then just stops, almost uncertain, between the kitchenette and the sofa.

He should look out of place, standing in the middle of Eames' flat, but strangely, he doesn't at all. He does seem a bit lost, though, and when he turns around, Eames thinks that he might just walk right back out. But all he does is look at Eames, still wearing the same frown.

'Arthur,' Eames puts on a smile to mask his rising anxiety. He's sure he fails miserably. 'To what do I owe the honour?'

Arthur remains silent, but it's a hesitant silence. He breaks eye contact in favour of eyeing the bottle of gin on the kitchen counter instead. Eames chuckles at that and walks over to take out another glass.

'If you're too stingy to buy your own poison, you could've just said so. Although I have to warn you, I only got freezer-ice.'

'What's that supposed to be?'

Arthur's gaze follows Eames as he retrieves his own glass from the coffee table, pours the contents into the sink, and then opens the empty freezer. Arthur draws a breath, about to say something, but Eames just breaks some ice off the walls and, with another few flicks of his wrist, hands Arthur his drink, stolen-lemon garnish included.

A scrutinising look is the only comment he gets. It's obvious that Arthur thinks it's gross, but he drinks it anyway.

They stand in the kitchen in silence, Eames taking sip after calculated sip, while he thinks about what he could say.

'You were right about those shelves,' Arthur starts, loosely pointing at them.

'Hm?'

'They could use some dusting.'

'Ah. Yeah, uh, haven't got around to that yet.'

What the hell was he doing? Drinking in his kitchen with Arthur, straining himself to make awkward casual conversation? His fingers itch to get a hold of his totem, the strangeness of the situation feels a bit too close to that of a dream than he is comfortable with. He puts the glass down on the counter.

'What are you doing here, Arthur?'

Something almost invisible flickers across his face at that.

'I'm drinking gin in your kitchen, Eames.' He looks right at him, expression unreadable.

Eames holds his gaze.

'Cut the bullshit. You could be anywhere else right now, hell, you _should_ be anywhere else. What happened? Banned for life from every hotel in the greater L.A. area? What's going on?' He gets louder in the middle, then quiets down at the end, taking a step closer without noticing.

'I...' Arthur downs the rest of the drink, 'I meant to go to a hotel. As usual. But then it, I don't know, it hit me that this is not usual. Nothing about it. I realised that a lot of things are gonna change, it wasn't just the aftermath of a normal job done well. I, I... I forgot where I was going with this. I guess what I wanted was... to go home. But, I don't even really have a place like that, so I...' He lets out a sigh.

'So you... came here?'

He doesn't know what to do with that information, or the implications of it.

_Of all places..._

The frown reappears on Arthur's face as he steps out of Eames' personal space and towards the sofa. He falls onto it in a way that some might call uncharacteristic, but then again, Arthur is also the guy who rocks back in his chair during work meetings.

'You got a problem with that?'

Eames does reach for the poker chip in his pocket now, only to make sure no one conjured this one up for him. There's nothing off about the chip in his fingers. He feels the tension he's been holding leave his body.

'Move over, will you?'

Arthur takes a moment to process, but then sits up (well, halfway, at least) to let Eames join him on the sofa. Not knowing what else to do, Eames turns on the TV, in an attempt to avoid awkward silence and give them both something else to focus on. He is fully aware neither is working.

'What are your plans?' Arthur asks him. 'I mean, what were you gonna do next?'

Eames thinks for a second, then replies, 'Stay here for a bit, then back to Mombasa at some point, maybe look for a job either here or there, although I probably won't need another all that soon, I reckon.'

Other than most people in this field, Eames doesn't move around too much. He has a place to stay in a few spots across the globe, but he's never been fond of the jet-set life. Usually when he finishes a job, he stays around for a while and then goes back home. Home, of course, does change on occasion, but he's still enjoying Mombasa and doesn't plan on leaving that behind just yet.

He knows it's the exact opposite for Arthur.

'You said a lot of things are going to change. I'm guessing you won't be working with Cobb anymore?'

'To be honest, right now I don't know if I'm gonna be working jobs at all anymore. Over the last few years, I've grown used to the setup we had, I'm not sure if I can get used to something else fast enough.'

'Fast enough?'

'Before I'm out of the loop for too long. But, as you said, there's also no need for another job in the near future, so I guess I could just... wait and see?' He lets his head fall back onto the back rest and stares at the ceiling. 'I don't know. I don't know where to go or what to do, and that's something that hasn't really happened before. Usually, I _know_. I mean, it's pretty much my job description. I know things. And now I just... don't.' He lifts his head again to look at Eames.

He looks so absolutely lost and Eames has to fight every fibre in his body to not lean in. He looks away and clears his throat.

'It's okay. You'll figure it out.' His voice sounds a bit hollow. 'No need to rush, hm?'

'Yeah... you're right.'

Arthur is still looking at him, he can feel it.

'This place is still the same as it was,' Arthur says quietly, 'even though it's been... a while.'

'I haven't been here since, either.' Eames matches Arthur's volume without meaning to.

'Sorry for barging back in like this.'

He knows Arthur isn't talking about the flat, not really. He also knows that he doesn't mind it, even though he probably should.

'Don't be, love.' The endearment just slips out at the end there. It's not entirely unusual for him to use it, but it causes a slight shift. Mostly, it's a physical one, as Arthur shifts closer to him and hesitantly relaxes against his side. His head comes to rest on his shoulder. A few strands have escaped from the gel slicking his hair back, and they're tickling Eames' jaw. It unlocks the carefully buried memory of how it always looked in the morning.

It's dangerous territory. Having Arthur here in this flat, on this sofa, right next to him again, the haunting feeling of...

'Familiarity,' Arthur mumbles into his shoulder. 'I think... that's what I was looking for. Why I came back here.'

Eames doesn't miss a beat. He wraps his arms around Arthur and pulls him close, burying his face in his hair. (He still wears the same perfume; just the smallest amount, so you need to get just this close to smell it.)

'I've missed you,' he breathes.

Arthur's fingers find their way to Eames' neck, up into his hair. He knows the sensation of his short-clipped nails on his scalp so well, it almost hurts.

And their kisses are the same.

Familiar.

Later, when Eames doesn't crawl into bed alone, he thinks that familiarity is something he can see himself settle into.


End file.
